


What Friends Do

by fictionallemons



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Benji doesn't have a beard, Benthan, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Ethan with long hair, Facials, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gunshot Wounds, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jack Harmon - Freeform, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Murder, Mild Blood, No Julia, Oblivious Benji, Painkillers, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Spoilers for Mission:Impossible, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 04:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionallemons/pseuds/fictionallemons
Summary: Even though Benji has the gunshot wound, Ethan's the one that seems to need the comforting. Benji just thinks he's being a good friend by letting Ethan sleep in his bed. But what does Ethan think?





	What Friends Do

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place generally after Ghost Protocol, but Julia never really happened. Jack refers to Jack Harmon, played by Emilio Estevez in the first Mission: Impossible.
> 
> Happy Benthan Week!

Benji threw himself into the back of the town car, only just managing to slam the door closed behind him as the villains who'd been chasing them continued to fire.

"Go, go, go!" he yelled. Ethan was already peeling away with a screech of tires. 

"Did you get it?" Ethan asked, once they'd put some distance between them and the people shooting at them.

Benji felt his pocket for the data stick they'd spent three days hunting down. "I got it."

He saw Ethan grin in the rear view mirror; he smiled back. Then he winced, as he registered a dull pain in his side. His fingers slid around, feeling over the fabric of his checked button-down shirt. He gasped in pain and surprise when he hit something wet.

"What is it?" Ethan's smile had been replaced by a look of concern.

"It's nothing." Benji brought his fingers up to his face. They were covered in blood. "Well, nearly nothing."

"Jesus—you've been hit," Ethan said. "It's not safe to stop here. Put pressure on it."

"I know, I know," Benji tried not to succumb to the desire to pass out. He wasn't great around blood. He looked around the back of the car for something to staunch the blood with and found one of Ethan's ubiquitous black sweaters. At least the blood wouldn't show, he thought rather distantly as he covered his side with the material and pressed as hard as he could manage.

Ten tense minutes later Ethan pulled into an underground parking garage and killed the engine. He got out of the car, then climbed into the back next to Benji. The space was suddenly so much smaller, with Ethan's hair falling into his face as he gently inspected the wound.

"Can I—?" Ethan gestured to Benji's shirt.

Benji wasn't entirely sure what Ethan was asking, but he nodded anyway. He trusted Ethan with his life; he could certainly trust him with his shirt. Still, it felt strange as Ethan carefully undid the buttons and peeled the shirt over Benji's arms, as if he was unwrapping Benji like a gift. It had been warm that day, and Benji hadn't worn an undershirt, so his torso was exposed, the better for Ethan to see what they were dealing with. The dome light above them cast odd shadows, but it was enough to see by.

"It's a graze. I don't see any bullet fragments. You need stitches though." Ethan frowned. "It's not safe to go to a hospital."

"You can do it," Benji said.

Ethan paused, then nodded. "All right."

By the time they got to the safe house, it was full-on dark, and Benji's side ached horribly, but the bleeding seemed to have mostly stopped. He insisted that Ethan upload the data from the stick so that Yusuf could start working on decrypting it from headquarters. 

While he waited, Benji retrieved the first aid kit, his movements halting every time he strained his wound. By the time he settled onto a kitchen chair, he was sweating and felt like he might throw up. 

"It's done," Ethan said. His shoulders seemed tense as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink, then donned gloves. "How's the pain?"

"Bearable," Benji said.

"I'm going to have to clean it really well. That'll probably hurt more than the stitches," Ethan said ruefully.

"Whatever. It's fine." His voice sounded far away to his ears, but he'd been through worse.

Ethan rummaged around in the first aid kit, pulled out various odds and ends, then he said, looking in the vicinity of Benji's shoulder, "I'm going to take your shirt all the way off, is that okay?"

"Yeah," Benji said, for a split second wishing the circumstances of Ethan saying those words was different, his mind flitting away from the thought as quickly as it always did.

Ethan's hands were incredibly careful as they slipped the shirt over Benji's shoulders. Benji let go of the sweater he still held over the wound so Ethan could slide the shirt over his arms. He folded it neatly and set it on the table. Benji couldn't help but laugh weakly. "I think that's destined for the bin, Ethan."

Ethan didn't answer, just set his concentration on peeling away the sweater as delicately as possible so he didn't cause the bleeding to resume. When he'd gotten it off, he dropped it to the floor.

"Sorry about your sweater," Benji said.

Ethan just hummed in response as he inspected the wound.

"Where did you learn this, anyway?" Benji asked as Ethan set to cleaning. It did hurt. Talking helped.

"Army," Ethan said. Well, perhaps Benji was going to have to do the talking.

"Did you like it?"

"What?"

"Being in the Army?"

It was a moment before Ethan responded. "I liked parts of it."

"Well, which parts did you like?" 

Ethan didn't answer. Benji felt like he was trying to have a conversation with a bowling ball. "Let me guess, climbing wall, ropes course, jumping out of airplanes?"

The corner of Ethan's mouth turned up slightly to show he'd heard.

"Or was it weapons training? Vehicular pursuit? Pull-ups?"

Ethan bit his lip as if he was possibly trying not to laugh.

"Wait, I know. Gotta be the running. 2 miles a day minimum, right?"

Ethan huffed out a breath. Not quite a laugh, but close enough for Benji to feel like he's won a small victory.

"It's all clean. Now the stitches. Then you can have something for the pain."

"Okay." Benji had been so focused on their one-sided conversation he'd dissociated a bit from the poking and prodding Ethan was doing to the gouge on his side. It occurred to him that even as close as he and Ethan were—he'd known the man for years, and he considered him a friend—there was so much he didn't know about him. Ethan didn't go around blurting out his life story. But Benji realized he'd also never really asked. He didn't know much about Ethan's life…before.

Ethan made one stitch, and Benji sucked in a breath at the sensation of having something pushed through his skin and out the other side. "Actually, it was the camaraderie. The team building."

"What was?"

"My favorite thing about the Army. Brothers and sisters in arms, you know? I'm an only child. I liked being part of a family." Ethan was entirely focused on the minor surgery he was performing, but his words came out steady, soothing. Benji focused on them instead of the pain.

"Is that why you joined the IMF? To be part of a family?" Benji had often felt that he was closer to his IMF teammates than he'd ever been to his actual flesh-and-blood family. 

"Yeah, in a way." Ethan frowned, as if he hadn't thought of it like that before.

"They recruited you, right?" Benji didn't know, but he'd assumed Ethan would have been approached, just as he had. He'd been finishing up his graduate work at Oxford in advanced cryptography when the dour American suits had shown up at his lab one day with a nondisclosure agreement and a signing bonus. He'd leapt at the chance to travel to America and work for the good guys. Or, at least, the not-as-bad-guys.

"No, not really. A…friend…of mine from my Army Ranger team had been with the IMF for a while. He thought it would suit me, and he brought me on board."

There was something in Ethan's voice. A hesitation. A slight quiver. Benji's antennae prickled. "Oh, anyone I know?"

Ethan didn't look up from his task. "He died in '96."

"Oh." There was definitely much more to that story. Benji suddenly felt like as good of friends and he and Ethan were, he was in uncharted territory. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." There was silence. "One more stitch."

Benji was about to lighten the mood, maybe make a quip about Ethan joining a quilting circle, but Ethan spoke first.

"He was murdered on a mission. By our team leader. I never got to say goodbye." 

Benji was shocked, but tried not to show it. "Fuck," he said. Ethan still wouldn't look at him. "What was his name?"

For a minute it seemed as if Ethan wouldn't answer. He cleared his throat but his voice still came out thick when he said, "Jack."

"Losing a teammate is never easy." Benji's brain called up the image of Trevor Hanaway's eyes with the life drained out of them. "Especially if they feel like family. Like losing a brother."

"Jack was not like my brother. He was more than a friend." Ethan was taping gauze down over the stitched up skin, his touch gentle. He sounded as if he was being forced to say the words at gunpoint. Benji wanted to reassure him that he didn't have to share, that it wasn't any of Benji's business.

"It's okay, Ethan, you don't have to—"

"I want you to know." And then Ethan looked up, and finally met Benji's gaze. Benji stared at his familiar, lovely eyes. He'd never seen them this way before, so open, so vulnerable. "Jack was my—" But it seemed that Ethan couldn't make himself say the words. Benji experienced a flash of recognition, recalled the first time he tried to explain to his mother that his friend Simon wasn't just a friend.

"Oh." Benji was neither surprised nor unsurprised. He just wanted to make Ethan feel better. The wound was on his left side, so he brought his right hand up, touched Ethan's arm. Ethan stilled, lifted his hands from Benji's bandaged side. Benji squeezed slightly, feeling Ethan's strength through the thin black button-down he wore, not caring about how strong Ethan physically was. Ethan was the strongest person he knew, but that didn't mean he didn't need to lean on someone once in a while.

"I wanted to tell you," Ethan said. Almost the same phrase again, but not quite. 

Benji thought he knew what Ethan was saying, and why he was saying it. Benji was safe. Benji was easy. Benji understood what it was like to care about the cobbled together family of your IMF team more than you cared about yourself. He knew what it was like to lose a member of that family, to be petrified with fear at the prospect of that loss. He knew, even if Ethan didn't know this about him (Would never know. _Could_ never know.), what it was like to love one of those teammates as more than a brother, more than a friend. If Ethan had felt that way, and then that person had been murdered by someone he was supposed to trust—well, he supposed that the scars from would still hurt, even nearly twenty years later.

Benji squeezed his arm again, just to let him know that he understood, that it was all fine, but when he went to pull away, Ethan stopped him, placing his hand over Benji's, holding on. They sat there, frozen in a sort of half embrace, Benji shirtless and stiff with pain, Ethan's eyes downcast again, his latex gloves smeared with Benji's blood.

If Benji had been whole and healthy, he would have folded Ethan into his arms, let him rest for a minute. It was something he felt he could do for his friend, who asked for so little and gave so much. He could provide sanctuary with no agenda other than that of a friend offering another friend a moment of peace. But he'd had a bullet gouge a channel of flesh out of him not long ago, and then he'd had ten stitches to sew it up. He ached. Ethan seemed to realize it, because he moved first, standing up and pulling away, peeling off his gloves, finding the painkiller all before Benji could say or do anything.

"Here." Ethan shook out the dose of pills into Benji's hand. "You need to rest."

A little while later, Benji was ensconced in bed, the pills having worked their magic to dull the pain. Ethan had cleaned up, and had a report from Yusuf that the data was good and they'd be given new orders in the morning after the analysts had taken a look at it.

"You should turn in," Benji said, after Ethan had checked on him and given him the update.

Ethan ran a hand over his jaw, dark with five o'clock shadow. "I will." But he paused by the door to the small bedroom. "Sorry about before."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Benji said easily. "Thanks for patching me up."

"Of course." Ethan still didn't move.

Benji waited to see if Ethan was going to say anything else. When he didn't, Benji made up his mind. Maybe his inhibitions had been lowered by the painkillers, but he'd like to think he was brave enough to do it anyway.

"Come here."

Ethan shifted slightly, but didn't obey.

"Please," Benji added.

Ethan walked hesitantly into the room. Benji waved him over to the bed. "It's okay. Come on." Ethan paused for one long beat then seemed to make up his mind, because he shoved off his shoes and joined Benji on the double bed, laying on top of the thin blankets next to him. 

Benji carefully turned off the lamp next to the bed, and the room disappeared into darkness. Ethan was warm and solid next to him, his head not quite sharing the pillow, even though there was only one. Benji shifted as well as he was able, and then he put his arm, the one on his not-injured side, across Ethan's chest. It was an anchor, for both of them, and the comfortable rise and fall of Ethan's chest dragged Benji down toward a deep, dreamless, sleep.

***

When Benji opened his eyes, the amount of light flooding into the room told him he'd slept well past dawn. He took a general inventory and realized he felt surprisingly good—though the pain meds had worn off, his side ached dully, but didn't burn. Not bad for being shot the day before. Ethan had done a good job doctoring him—Benji didn't feel any infection. In fact, he felt strangely rested. He guessed it had been a while since he'd had a full night of sleep. 

Sleep was part of it. The person who he'd slept next to was part of it, too. Ethan was still out, his head curled on Benji's chest, just under his chin, but he lay a few inches away from Benji's injured side, as if protecting him even in sleep. Benji smiled, feeling absurdly proud that Ethan felt comfortable enough to sleep the whole night through next to him, to take the friendly sanctuary Benji offered. He relaxed into the bed, enjoying Ethan's weight on his chest, a marker that they were both alive. Ethan's hair, long and soft, ticked the underside of Benji's chin. For a moment he just felt…happy.

Benji could tell when Ethan woke up because he came to all of a sudden, his body going from lax to tense in a split second, going from prone to sitting just as fast. Ethan looked at him, blinking. Processing. He had creases from Benji's shirt on his cheek and Benji spared one pointless moment to experience a wave of fondness before he pushed it back down. He waited for Ethan to shove back, to briskly get back to business as usual. He didn't think Ethan would be embarrassed by what had happened, but one never knew. He steeled himself against any and every outcome. But he didn't anticipate what happened next.

Ethan _sighed_ , and Benji could swear the sigh sounded content. Ethan lay back down, head in the same position. He nestled his head against Benji's chest, and Benji felt him relax all over again. Benji was speechless.

Ethan, apparently, was not. "Wow," he said, "I slept incredibly well. Did you?"

Benji gaped silently until pulling himself together. "Uh, yeah, I did actually."

"How do you feel?" Ethan's voice was low, intimate with the dregs of sleep. Benji felt his belly tingle with the implications, told himself he was being ridiculous.

"Not bad. Maybe I'll take some more pain meds before we head out, but it's okay for now."

"I'll take a look at it in a bit and change the dressing."

"Fine." Benji couldn't help feeling this was the strangest work conversation he'd ever had. Ethan was practically _cuddling_ him. But perhaps this was what Ethan was like when he let his guard down. Maybe this meant they were really and truly friends. Benji smiled. He could live with that. It was already so much more than he'd ever hoped to be to the agent he'd followed into the field. He wondered if Ethan knew that Benji had become a field agent so he could make Ethan proud.

He would have gladly laid there all day, but work called. They'd probably already received their new orders and were falling behind in their itinerary. Maybe when they had a few days off, perhaps back in the States, Ethan would want to hang out, see a movie or something. Benji had never presumed that Ethan would want to spend time with him outside of work, even though they'd done it a handful of times. He wondered what kind of movies Ethan liked—somehow he doubted he'd enjoy explosion-filled action flicks. Perhaps quirky comedy or heady sci-fi was more to his liking. He was about to ask—why not?—when Ethan raised his head, scooted up the bed a little, and kissed him.

Benji froze. Ethan's lips were cool and dry. His hands were on Benji's shoulders. Benji honestly had no fucking clue what to do. His eyes were open wide with shock, so he could see that Ethan's were closed. He was monumentally confused. This wasn't what friends did.

Ethan seemed to realize that Benji wasn't responding to the kiss, because he pulled back and then all sorts of things happened at once. Ethan's expression went from inscrutable to closed off in rapid succession. Benji tried to scramble into a sitting position, but the rapid movement caused a knife of pain through his side and his winced, his hand going to his injury involuntarily. Ethan said, "I'm sorry," and Benji said, "No—I—" and then the pain hit him again and he felt dizzy.

"Benji, are you—I'll get you some water," Ethan said. He disappeared and came back with water and more pills, pressed them into Benji's hand and then scooped up his shoes off the floor and went away again, closing the door behind him.

"Shit." Benji took the meds and the water and got himself dressed, all the while trying to figure out what had just happened. Ethan had clearly interpreted their night sleeping in the same bed differently than Benji had. Okay, Benji could see how inviting someone to sleep in your bed could be construed as something…romantic? The word seemed strange to use in relation to Ethan Hunt. But Benji really hadn't meant it that way. He hoped Ethan hadn't felt like Benji was coming on to him—how mortifying would it be if Ethan had felt pressured in some way—but no, Ethan would never do anything he didn't want to do. Did that mean he _wanted_ to kiss Benji?

Benji thought back to their awkward conversation over the stitches. Ethan had all but said he'd once had a relationship with a man named Jack. Another IMF agent, who'd been more than a brother, more than a friend. And he explicitly said he wanted Benji to know about it. Why? The clouds in Benji's brain parted and the answer came to him. Ethan wanted Benji to know about Jack because he liked Benji and he thought that was pertinent information. And when Benji had invited Ethan into his room, Ethan must have thought that was a sign that Benji liked him, too. And then Benji had gone and fucked it up. It had taken years to get Ethan to this place. How long would it be before he opened up again?

"Fuck that," Benji said under his breath. He stomped out of his room and found Ethan hunched over a laptop in the kitchen, sitting in the same chair where he'd sat last night. Benji took his own chair and pulled it right up to Ethan's. "Take a look at my stitches? Feels like they might be bleeding."

Ethan glanced over, avoiding Benji's face. He nodded, went to wash his hands. "Yusuf sent me the intel. We're going to Munich on the one o'clock train."

"Munich—that means—"

"I know." They exchanged small smiles. The mission was nearly over. Ethan's hunch was paying off. As usual.

Ethan sat back down and Benji lifted his shirt up and over his head, leaving him naked from the waist up. Because he was watching, he saw Ethan's jaw flex. He presented his side to Ethan and stayed quiet and still while Ethan lifted up the bandage, took a look at the stitches.

"No, they look good," Ethan said roughly. "I'll give you a new dressing, though."

"Thanks," Benji said. Ethan's movements were just as gentle as they had been last night, before Benji had invited him to share his bed, before he'd woken up with Ethan cradled against him, before he'd been kissed by the man he wanted more than anything else in the world. But now there was something else between then. Something thick and unnamed, something that made Benji's skin feel hot and lips feel dry. He licked them. It wasn't enough. He needed more to quench the thirst that was asserting itself after years of trying to pretend it didn't exist. Ethan had changed into a dark gray button down over black jeans. His hair flopped down over his eyebrows.

"You need a haircut," Benji said.

"Yeah," Ethan agreed, taping the fresh gauze down. When he was finished he looked up. Benji held his gaze steadily, and reached over to carefully brush Ethan's hair away from his eyes. Ethan's expression grew wary. "Benji—"

"I didn't know," Benji interrupted. He couldn't let Ethan retreat, let him pretend nothing had happened. "I didn't know that you felt that way. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Ethan said stiffly, as though trying to maintain his dignity in the face of rejection.

Benji leaned closer. "No. It's not fine. I was lying there, feeling like the luckiest man alive just to be with you, just to call you my friend. Because your friendship is so important to me, Ethan."

Ethan nodded, jerkily. "Friends, yeah." He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.

"I didn't let myself think that it could be more, that we could be more. Because I was sure I'd get my heart broken that way." At that, Ethan sucked in a breath. "Because why would someone as incredible as you, as gorgeous as you are, inside and out, want me?"

Benji cupped Ethan's cheek with his palm, and Ethan burrowed against it, like he'd done against Benji's chest that morning. His eyes closed and he sighed, that happy, content sigh that Benji now understood was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "I want you," he said, just to be clear. "If you'll have me."

"Benji." Ethan said his name on a rasp. "I want you. I want you so much." He reached out, and pulled Benji carefully onto his lap. Benji didn't mind straddling Ethan's waist in the least. Their chests were inches apart, their mouths mere millimeters. Benji closed the gap, kissing Ethan softly with closed mouth, then opening up as Ethan's tongue swept along the seam of his lips. The kiss made Benji's stomach swoop and his toes tingle and nipples tighten and his cock twitch with interest all in under a minute. They broke apart, smiling like loons, laughing a little, Ethan's hands roaming over Benji's bare chest, as if he was trying to reassuring himself he was real.

They spent long minutes making out, Ethan's mouth kissing a path down Benji's neck, ending in the prize of his left nipple. The sensation of Ethan's tongue flicking the tight bud made Benji groan, his cock throb. "Jesus, Ethan, you're going to kill me."

"I don't want to kill you," Ethan said, lifting him up and off him with impressive ease. Benji wasn't huge, but he was solid muscle, and Ethan had just lifted him like nothing. He found himself intrigued by the possibilities. "I want to make you come so hard you won't need painkillers for your side."

Benji growled and pulled Ethan up out of his chair. He was no slouch in the strength department, either. He crowded Ethan against the kitchen wall, palmed the bulge in Ethan's fancy black jeans and squeezed. Ethan groaned, his mouth falling open in invitation. Benji thrust his tongue inside, spearing his mouth over and over in imitation of what he wanted to do with his cock. Ethan's hands gripped his waist and they moved, fumbling to remove clothes as they went back to the bedroom where they'd spent the night. Ethan sank to his knees, wearing just a pair of black briefs, his erection distending them almost comically. Benji pulled his cock out of his own underwear, and fed it to Ethan unceremoniously, Ethan taking it down eagerly, lapping and sucking, all the while staring up at Benji with his intense green eyes. The sight of Ethan with a cock in his beautiful mouth almost made Benji come on the spot. But he had the presence of mind to bite off the words, "Touch yourself." Ethan complied, dexterously pulling the waistband of his briefs down to free his thick, heavy cock and start stroking himself in time to Benji's thrusts. 

"Fuck, Ethan, this feels so good," Benji groaned. It was all too much, too perfect. "I'm going to come, Ethan," he said desperately. Ethan sucked harder. Benji felt the tip of his cock bump the back of Ethan's throat and he couldn't stop it, the orgasm exploded through his body and out through his cock as he pumped load after load of come into Ethan. Ethan took it all, swallowing, looking extremely satisfied with himself as Benji finally pulled out and collapsed backward onto the bed. Ethan climbed on top of him, straddling him with his thickly muscled thighs, holding his big, painfully hard cock right in front of Benji's face.

"Open your mouth, Benji," Ethan said, his voice breathless, his hand flying fast over his erection. Benji did what he asked, his mouth falling open, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Ethan was staring at him intently, his gaze roaming over Benji's face, catching on his mouth, on his tongue. "I love your mouth," Ethan said. "I love your smile and your laugh and the things you say and the way you say them. I love your sexy, flirty mouth, Benji. I love—" and then Ethan was coming, shooting stripes of hot, wet come over Benji's face, into his mouth, over his lips. He was careful to avoid Benji's hurt side as he fell next to him on the bed. They were in the same positions that they'd spent the night in, only this time they were naked and sweating and Benji had come smeared onto his face. Ethan leaned over and kissed him, licking his own come off Benji's lips. It was the hottest thing Benji had ever experienced in his entire life, bar none.

Benji couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face and he didn't try. If he hadn't come with his cock down Ethan's throat, he definitely would have when Ethan had used the word love about five times. He suspected that when Ethan said he loved Benji's mouth he really meant he loved Benji, full stop. "Ethan Hunt?"

"Yes, Benji Dunn?" Ethan had settled his head onto Benji's chest and his voice was warm with happiness.

"When we get back home, would you like to go to the movies with me?"

"And dinner?" Ethan added hopefully.

"And dinner," Benji confirmed. "And then mind-blowing sex at my place."

"Can we sleep in the same bed after?"

"Always."

"I'd love to," Ethan said.

"It's a date," Benji said.

Ethan yawned. "Do you think we have time for a nap?"

Benji calculated travel time to the train station. "A short one."

They fell asleep with Ethan's head on Benji's chest, both of them smiling like idiots in love.


End file.
